


Love and Loss

by MagicInTheMundane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Emotional Hurt, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Possibly Unrequited Love, Present Tense, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicInTheMundane/pseuds/MagicInTheMundane
Summary: It was the dance that did it, back in Mexico. The way our bodies melded, soft curves and sharp edges somehow sliding together as though they fit, like a perfectly placed puzzle.Malia Tate must come to terms with many buried truths and new experiences as she navigates what it means to be human alongside the challenges of being a werecoyote in a town as dangerous and unpredictable as Beacon Hills.
Relationships: Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Kudos: 5





	Love and Loss

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in a long time thanks to my daft brain and the first Teen Wolf project I've ever worked on. It's still in the draft phase so don't expect sheer greatness but please try to be gentle. Having said that, if there's any areas you think I should improve upon or if the characterisation is off completely, feel free to let me know in the comments. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you enjoy!

It was the dance that did it, back in Mexico. 

The way our bodies melded, soft curves and sharp edges somehow sliding together as though they fit, like a perfectly placed puzzle. I remember the flutter in my chest as small hands ruffled through black hair draped over bare skin and soft features. Your eyes were intoxicating; pools of ink. A depth of darkness so deep I could spend a lifetime falling into them. Except all it took were a few minutes that felt like seconds. I’ve told myself it was the heady rush of danger, the thrill of the chase, the hunt, the desire to not get caught but instead tear into the pride of our enemies. The ecstasy of a room full of unsuspecting strangers and the electrification of adrenaline as it surged through me, alighting every sense into a fierce frenzy. 

I’ve denied, constantly, to everyone including myself, that you were the reason my pulse raced frantic as the wild deer I used to feast on. Swore the only thing that had a hold on me was the lustrious lure of a full moon. That when I blinked, the heat of your strong, supple body didn’t make me thirst for a different kind of devastation, and the motion of my stomach as it flipped was brought on only by the scents of sweat and seduction that hung heavy in the air. Not by the curve of your hips as they swayed against mine, or the gentle caress of pale fingers grazing over my skin as we fell into rhythm, and definitely not by those goddamn eyes that lit up the room like the crackle of fireworks. Filled to the brim with excitement and the careless comfort of living in the moment, if only for a sliver of time. 

I’m trying hard not to think about it, but fuck, I’ve never seen someone look so giddy with the glee of having a good time whilst so unaware of their own prowess. How can you not know the way you pull people in?   
Or is it intentional, like I first thought when you crept into my dreams? Is the fox inside you toying with the coyote in me? 

‘‘Malia?’’ 

Shit, your dad’s staring at me. 

‘‘Perhaps you can answer for us?’’ He crosses his arms in expectation.

‘‘Uh...’’ 

Damn it! I lost track, I don’t even know what page we’re on, or the topic or anyth-

‘‘I can answer.’’   
I know you by scent, sound and voice, yet somehow the eagerness of that tone makes it hard to swallow, or maybe it’s the arch of your back as you raise your hand. 

Your dad’s eyes are fixed on you now, one eyebrow raised. He knows, you’re not fooling him or anyone. But thanks for trying. 

‘‘I know she’s one of your friends, Kira,’’ you wince, dads can be so embarrassing, though it’s almost sweet. ‘‘But I think she can answer the question herself, can’t you, Malia?’’ 

‘‘No.’’ I say, because it’s true and it’s obvious. I hear a snicker behind me, some guy whose name I can’t remember, smells like chewing gum and anxiety. Not Stiles, he’s too busy holding a pen in his mouth to comment. He almost looks adorable when he’s puzzled. 

Your dad sighs, he smells like coffee and exhaustion; must be late nights. I wonder if it’s marking grades or the thought of you surrounded by wolves, monsters and moonlight that keeps him awake.   
I’d like you to keep me awake.   
Shit, I didn’t mean that.

‘‘Okay then, can anybody else answer the question?’’ 

I don’t think I meant that.

You put your hand up again, thrust in the air, straight and secure in the knowledge you have. You’re so intelligent, not Lydia smart, but Kira smart. I like that.   
I think I like you.

Only as a friend though.

Yeah, just a frien-

The shrillness of that bell always catches me off guard, making me flinch, I can feel it vibrating round my skull. It’s too loud, like a bunch of symbols clashed together. No, that’s not quite right. I’ve been thinking in metaphors and similes ever since reading Lydia’s notes from English. Maybe they remind me of you, no that’s stupid. Oh crap, you’re standing up. That perfect body wrapped in those elegant, stylish clothes. I’m more of a jeans and jumper kind of girl today, but you can pull off a long sleeved shirt and short skirt with ease. I love that.

I imagine my hand sliding up your skirt sometimes, all smooth skin and coy smiles. Lips so soft I almost lose my damn mind when they meet mine. 

‘‘Malia?’’ Stiles is looking at me worried, shit. 

‘‘I hate school.’’ I state, because it’s true and because I can feel my face heat up. 

‘‘Doesn’t everyone?’’ He says, reassuring as ever. He’s sweet. 

Lydia turns to us both with a grin. ‘‘I don’t.’’ 

I scowl at her, Stiles mirrors me. 

‘‘Yeah, well we can’t all be geniuses.’’ He points out, but before I can say anything she swishes her long, red hair over her shoulder and tosses me a smile. ‘‘I’ll lend you my notes.’’ 

I’m about to say thank you when I catch sight of a flannel shirt out of the corner of my eye, my keen nose already picked up on Scott’s scent; he’s one of the few guys in school who doesn’t have that thick, heavy stench of deodorant constantly clinging to him. I guess his senses can’t bear it either.   
He’s placing his arm around you as he glances at us with a nod and a small smile, you give a wave.   
‘‘See you later guys,’’ your voice is like rain after a drought. I read that in a book somewhere that Stiles lent me. Which reminds me, I should return it. 

‘‘Want to head back to mine to study?’’ He says. 

I nod, bag scoped on to my shoulder as he discusses the colour code we long since established. My book today is full of red, thankfully he’s got geometry and philosophy covered, or was it history?   
He’s talking but I’m only half listening. My mind is too focused on the way your hair glides over your shoulder as you turn, how it makes my pulse rise and my stomach drop. You leave, and despite my urge to study and the way Stiles can make me laugh like no one else, I think I’d rather be with you tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? I get that first person isn't for everyone and even I know I was a bit heavy handed with the similes, but I'll try to cut back on that. Let me know what you thought. I've got a few ideas in mind for this story, though I'm not sure how long it'll be and I can't completely promise a happy ending even though I'm leaning to one, hence no tag. Regardless, please enjoy my casual destruction of poor Malia's life for our mutual entertainment.


End file.
